


A House is Not a Home

by valiantprincex



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantprincex/pseuds/valiantprincex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the lights go off, Sarah paces like a trapped animal. She eyes Beth’s gun, badge, all sitting neatly on the kitchen counter and thinks of a cage. She sits on Beth’s couch and tips a burning down her throat, stokes the fire within her.</p><p>(a song of five parts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House is Not a Home

**Author's Note:**

> hm so this was prompted by [ tumblr user allysondark](http://allysondark.tumblr.com) as punkrop + change, and it deviated a bit, oops

 

I. When the lights go off, Sarah paces like a trapped animal. She eyes Beth’s gun, badge, all sitting neatly on the kitchen counter and thinks of a cage. She sits on Beth’s couch and tips a burning down her throat, stokes the fire within her. Her hands shake, and she drinks more, keep it roaring, feels the house smothering her like a grave. Thinks about calling this place home, feels it too much like betrayal, like a dampening. Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, Sarah can hear the rain. It isn’t much, the splash of water on the front porch and on the window pane. (The roof is silent as death, another life another _lives_ dancing above them — separate. Distinct, never touching.)

But it’s a tame rain, and Sarah fears what she is becoming.

Before dawn breaks she slides back into bed, Beth’s side is warm to the touch and she twitches slightly, but never wakes. Sarah rests beside her until Beth wakes to the harsh beeping of an alarm, rushes off in an orderly storm.

 

II. Sarah’s storms are wild.

Once, when she is very, very drunk Sarah stumbles out of their apartment to the sound of car horns and sirens. The city roars to her and she surges to life with it, feet tracking through the streets like she owns it all. (Which she did. Once. As in, not any _more_.)

The sirens brush close to her like an old friend and she laughs in their faces, a return. She is giddy with it, the wildness of her storm, she dodges their headlights, the screeches melding with the city’s bellow.

She doesn’t run for long. Sarah doesn’t know who or why — its the rush, really, the high that she wants, nothing more — but her fist crunches against bone, flesh, feels blood start underneath it like a dam breaking. The man swings his fist in turn and it meets her jaw, bright spots dancing in her vision. Too much like headlights she spins underneath them, recovers quick to land a blow, and again, and again.

She thinks she might be laughing.

But the sirens come, as they always do, singing their sweet song and Sarah is shoved against the wall, her bleeding hands forced behind her. She thinks she can recognize the faces, but they’re all the same, really, all the same and she spits at them: teeth bared.

 

III. It’s the wait that she hates. It reminds her too much of a wasted youth; sitting on identical benches in different stations and waiting for someone to pick her up. Like trash, maybe. ‘ _Don’t throw it on the street that’s littering_ ,’ the voice plays in her mind and she doesn’t know — remember — _who_ said it, but then again, that doesn’t matter anymore.

Beth sweeps in with a huff, hair all wind blown and eyes shadowed by deep groves — Sarah feels sorry, all-of- _a_ -sudden, and Sarah’s cheeks burn with something like regret. She sees Beth arguing with another, thinks Art, wants to laugh again.

The keys jingle in Beth’s hand as she approaches, reaches out one hand to brush Sarah’s swollen jaw line. Sarah turns away and wants to hiss with the pain of it, not even noticing as Beth unlocks the handcuff holding her to the bench. Beth helps her to a standing and says: ‘ _Lets go home_ ,’ the word sounding like a song as it leaves her lips.

“Yeah,” Sarah says. “Lets go home”

And on hers the word tastes like poison.

 

IV. Sarah sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the floor. Beth’s posture reads too much of shame and she rubs alcohol over Sarah’s cuts, bandages them up with hands that do not shake. Sarah feels the word _sorry_ burn on the tip of her tongue but she bites down on it, clenches her fist.

Beth’s hand reaches for her cheek and Sarah flinches away, feels blood beginning to seep through her bandages.  Beth pauses, cocks her head, reaches again. Sarah lets her touch this time, closes her eyes as Beth’s fingers press gently on the bruises formed. Lets her smooth salve across the mottled expanse and sighs slowly when Beth reaches to kiss her. Sarah returns the kiss, digging deep, her teeth scraping and pulling on Beth’s lip.

They tumble onto the sheets, Sarah leading, pulling Beth’s hands as she burns roses into Beth’s collarbone.

“Hey,” Beth pulls away, _pushes_ away, and Sarah wants to growl with frustration. “What was tonight about, Sarah? I thought we were – I thought we were okay. I thought _we_ were getting better. I thought you–”

Sarah pushes her self against Beth, lips crashing like a wave on Beth’s own. “Shut up,” she whispers, cracked hands pushing down on Beth’s shoulders, fingers fumbling on the buttons of Beth’s shirt. “ _Just –_ shut up, yeah,” Sarah scrapes her teeth against Beth’s neck, feels Beth gasp, hands reaching to Sarah’s belt.

 

V. Sarah stares at the ceiling, feels Beth slip slowly into sleep beside her. Sarah turns over, props herself on an elbow and watches her chest rise and fall, reaches out one hand to brush the hair out of Beth’s face. Sarah tucks it gently behind her ear and leans in, rests her forehead against Beth’s.

The ceiling shadows like a cage and Sarah’s limbs are heavy, too heavy to run, stand even. So she pulls the covers over them both and rests her head in the hollow of Beth’s chest.

Tries again.

Says “ _Ho_ _m_ _e_ ,” feels the word slide like fish oil through her teeth. Feels the way the word softens like a rock tumbled from the ocean

Feels the way the poison leeches out of it the more she thinks of it, fear bubbling up like a spring. Sarah feels Beth’s warmth, lets her guard down long enough for it to wash over her like a gentle tide.  

Tries to think of reasons to stay.

The next night she waits for Beth to slip into unconsciousness before padding to the kitchen, hands scrounging for a glass. She lets the burning slide down her throat and twists the word home in her mind, whispers it again and again until it stops sounding right on her tongue.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! 
> 
> If you've read this and liked it, a kudo and/or comment would be greatly appreciated!


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